


be my valen(pie)ne

by LadyMerlin



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Accidental Coming Out, Alternate Universe - Bakery, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Coming Out, Gen, Hopeful Ending, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Jack does not like Reporters, Meet-Cute, NHL Player Jack Zimmermann, Panic Attacks, Pre-Relationship, Pre-Slash, Professional Baker Eric Bittle, Schmoop, Valentine's Day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-14
Updated: 2018-02-14
Packaged: 2019-03-18 12:33:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,960
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13681758
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyMerlin/pseuds/LadyMerlin
Summary: Bitty’s Bakery isn’t exactly the kind of place you’d take your significant other for a romantic evening on V-Day, and Bitty is fine with that. He knows his audience.





	be my valen(pie)ne

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Valentine's Day, and Happy early Chinese New Year! 
> 
> If you don't have/want romance this year, I hope you at least have an abundance of pineapple tarts.

Bitty isn’t expecting much business on Valentine’s Day. Most days, his cupcakes and muffins and cakes and pies sell like hotcakes ( _hah_ ), but Bitty’s Bakery isn’t exactly the kind of place you’d take your significant other for a romantic evening on V-Day, and Bitty is fine with that. He knows his audience.

Which is why he’s a little surprised that there’s a ruckus outside his little café at nine in the evening, when the street should’ve been deserted.

He’s so engrossed looking at the crowd milling around outside with giant cameras and film equipment that he’s not paying attention to his own surroundings. That’s why, when he turns to head into the back rooms and sees a man slumped on the ground below the coffee machines, his first reaction is to shriek and jump a foot in the air.

When the man looks up at him, all wide eyes and panic, Bitty actually feels his soul leave his body, because that’s when he realises Jack Zimmermann sitting on his bakery floor.

Jack. Motherfucking. _Zimmermann_.

Also known as the Hockey god whose poster he had hanging on his bedroom wall until he graduated. This is the closest Bitty has ever been to a celebrity spotting and it’s enough to send his heart into overdrive.

But all of that fades away quickly when Bitty recognises the genuine distress on the man’s face. He gets to his knees and holds his hands out, as non-threateningly as he can manage. He knows the signs of an impending panic attack when he sees them. “Hey, hon’, you’re alright, you’re safe, there’s no one else here, do you know where you are?” He keeps his voice as low and as calm as he can manage when he’s fighting his own shrill panic.

Jack nods but doesn’t say anything, and his eyes don’t get any less wide. Bitty glances at the crowd still hanging around outside his front door, and the pieces fall into place. “Can I assume that pack is out there because of you?”

Jack nods again, and then Bitty nods in response once, and then again, more decisively.

“Alright. First things first, my name is Eric. My friends call me Bitty, and this is my bakery. I’ve got a couple of rooms round the back, nothing glamorous, but you’re more than welcome to hang out til this lot gets bored and wander off.”

“You don’t have to,” is the first thing Jack says, and his voice is low and hoarse, like he’s been gasping for air for a while now.

Bitty shakes his head. “It’s only the decent thing to do, Mr Zimmermann. I’m sure you didn’t ask to be chased by a mob, no matter what kind of Hockey you play.”

Jack nods again, and his fingers clench tightly in the fabric of his own sweatpants. He’s shaking a little and Bitty wants more than anything to pull him into a hug, but that would make him no better than the wolves out there. “You know who I am?” He asks, after a moment of silence.

Bitty laughs a little and ducks his head. “I captained Samwell Men’s Hockey Team a couple of years ago, I think I’m kind of obliged to know who you are, Mr Zimmermann.”

“ _Chrisse_ ,” Jack swears and covers his face with his - ginormous - hand, and he’s clearly trying for a movie-star smile when he looks up at Bitty again.

Before he can even open his mouth to try, Bitty is shaking his head. “None of that, Mr Zimmermann. There’ll be no pictures or video cameras in here. I live round the back, it’s my private home and not for public consumption. Come on back and I’ll make you a cup of tea and cut you a slice of pie.”

“It’s okay,” Jack whispers, even though it’s clearly not.

“Listen, they’ll leave soon, I’m sure of it, but you don’t want to be hanging around on my floor til they do, for sure. If you crawl this way, you won’t be seen from the front door. Give me half a tick and I’ll lock the front door so no one can get in when you’re not paying attention. I’ll give you my phone so you know I’m not calling anyone. There’s a back door which leads through an alleyway but it goes to the front street anyway, so I don’t know how much good it’ll do you. I swear on the welly mascot and my Meemaw’s bourbon peach pie that nothing will happen to you here.”

“Are you sure it’s okay? God, I can’t even pay for a slice of pie, I didn’t have my wallet when I got out of my car, I’m so sorry—” Jack’s words bubble out of him, and Bitty knows exactly what that feels like, when he can’t control his own mouth for the sheer nerves.

Bitty clucks and shakes his head, cutting Jack off. “I’d be a sorry host if I couldn’t offer a guest a blessed cup of tea and a bite to eat, Mr Zimmermann. My Meemaw would climb out of the grave to strike me down if you even offered. You wouldn’t want that right?”

Jack shakes his head and there’s the tiniest smile blooming in the corner of his mouth, and that pretty much settles it. “Call me Jack,” he says, and Bitty hands his phone over to Jack with a smile. Jack looks like he wants to refuse it, but Bitty thinks they both know the anxiety screaming in Jack’s head will pipe down significantly if there’s no way for Bitty to contact anyone else. He takes it, and then Bitty gets to his feet.

“Alright Jack, I’m going to head to the front door, and then I’m going to come back to the counter and pull out some pie. All freshly baked, in the store itself, for what it’s worth. The door behind me leads to the kitchen, and if you go straight through it and past the sinks, there’s another door which leads to my rooms. None of the doors are locked. I’ll be right there but you can go ahead first.”

Jack nods and obeys, crawling through the door Bitty had pointed out. In any other universe, Bitty would have been too shocked by the fact that an NHL Captain was crawling into his bakery kitchen to react properly. In this universe, he’s so worried about the reporters – because that’s exactly what they are – crowding around outside his shop. He locks the door as quietly and unobtrusively as he can before sneaking back to the counter, and pulling out slices of his maple pecan pie, and some of the quinoa bars which are more popular with the health nuts around the area.

When he pushes through the door into the kitchen, Jack’s leaning against a clean counter-top with his arms crossed. Bitty’s phone is lying on the steel surface beside him. Bitty offers him a smile. “The front door’s locked. You’re safe. You alright?”

Jack shrugs, but he looks a lot less tense than he’d looked sitting on Bitty’s floor. “Alright,” Bitty takes it and nods. “Let’s head in. I don’t know about you but I could murder a cuppa right now.”

“Don’t you like coffee?” Jack asks, and it’s the first thing he’s said that wasn’t a reply to a question.

Bitty grins back at him as easily as he can manage. “I love coffee, but not if I want to sleep anytime tonight. No siree, I’ve learned my lesson after college.”

“Sounds like there’s a story behind that,” Jack offers, and follows after Bitty quietly. “Should I take off my shoes?”

Bitty shakes his head. “My heating’s pretty rubbish back here. Best keep your shoes on if you don’t want your toes freezing to the floor.” Jack frowns, but doesn’t say anything. “And you’re right, there’s definitely a story behind that, but nothing I’d be willing to share until I’ve got a couple of drinks in me.”

“You do know that just makes it even more intriguing, right?” Jack asks, and there’s a definite thaw in his voice that has Bitty relaxing as well. He slides two slices of the pie onto a ceramic plate which goes into the microwave, and puts the kettle on the stove almost on autopilot.

Bitty grins at him, and deliberately doesn’t take note of the height difference between them; Jack is almost a head-and-a-half taller than Bitty, and gorgeously broad to go with it. Really, the television does not do him justice. “I do know that, but really, it’s a story for another day. While we’re here though, would you like a jacket or a sweater or something?”

Jack gives him a once-over and raises an eyebrow, and Bitty just knows he’s wondering whether Bitty even has anything that would fit a man one-and-a-half times his size. “Don’t even start chirpin’, Mr Zimmermann, you can have a scarf and a blanket if you’re feeling cold.”

Jack flashes him a grin which has a heated flush rising into Bitty’s cheeks. “It’s alright, Eric. I’m Canadian. This is practically balmy for me.”

Bitty snorts. “So tell me Jack, when you were born, were the doctors worried that your blood flowed like a slush puppy?”

Jack shakes his head just as the microwave dings. “I understand that’s a Canadian thing. They’d probably have been more worried if it didn’t.”

Bitty rolls his eyes but lets Jack see his grin when he pulls the plate out of the microwave. He knows it’s sacrilege to warm pastry in the microwave, but he thinks the faster Jack gets some sugar into his system, the better he’ll feel. The kitchen gods will forgive him for not using the oven, this time.

There’s a small jug of heavy cream in the fridge, and Bitty doesn’t hesitate before pouring a healthy amount all over the gently steaming slices of pie. He hands Jack a fork and pulls up a chair, and gestures at Jack to start first.

So Jack does. The first bite of pie makes the nervous humming inside his head go quiet and still. The sticky filling melts in his mouth and it’s so good he doesn’t even want to swallow it, redolent with butter and maple-syrupy goodness on his tongue. When he finally opens his eyes after a long moment (though he doesn’t remember closing them in the first place), Bitty is watching him with a small glimmer of pride in his eyes.

“Holy shit,” is all he can think to say. Bitty laughs, so it’s probably enough. “Holy shit, Eric.” He takes another bite in silence, because there are really no other words for how good the pie is, only awed silence (and possibly pornographic moaning, but that’s not on the table for Jack tonight) can do it justice.

Bitty nibbles at his own, smaller slice, scraping tiny bits of the filling out of the crust and licking the tines of his fork slowly and carefully, as if he’s studying the flavours of his own pie. There’s another long minute before Jack realises that he’s practically inhaled his own slice, and is looking at Bitty with blatant fascination in his eyes. Bitty pushes his own plate closer to Jack in a clear invitation to share, but that that’s not what Jack is looking at. The pie is good, but that’s not what he’s fascinated by.

“Do you make your own pies?” he asks instead of voicing the hundreds of questions that are popping up in his head, in place of accepting Bitty’s offering. His nutritionist is going to kill him anyway.

“Each and every one, all the time,” Bittle replies, and he sounds so sincerely proud of himself that Jack can’t help but be proud of him too.

“That’s damn impressive, Eric.”

“Call me Bitty, please.”

Jack doesn’t point out that according to him, only friends called him Bitty. He wants to be Bitty’s friend too. “Well, that’s damn impressive, Bitty. I can name a bunch of people who would absolutely lose their shit over this pie.”

Bitty grins, but something in his eyes has dimmed a little. “Listen, Jack, if you want to call any of your friends, it might not be a bad idea to let them know you’re okay.” Bitty’s suggestion is gentle, but it reminds Jack sharply that he’s an uninvited guest here, that it’s Valentines’ Day, and that Bitty probably has plans.

“Shit, sorry Bitty, I’ll clear out soon, I’m sure there’s things you want to do tonight.” Jack moves to get up, because he’s feeling a lot better now and he’s totally cool to go, _really_ , but Bitty’s hand lands on his and he freezes in place, even though Bitty’s hand is gone a split second later.

“That’s not what I meant, Jack. You’re more than welcome to stay, and I definitely don’t have any plans. It just occurred to me that if I saw a picture of my friend running from the paparazzi, and I couldn’t get in touch with them, I’d be pretty damn worried.”

He’s right, so Jack uses Bitty’s phone to text Shitty, whose number is the only one he’s got by heart, and asks him to let his parents know that he’s alive. Shitty responds less than three seconds later, demanding Jack call him so that he knows he isn’t being held hostage or something. Bitty tells him to go right ahead and make the call, but Jack doesn’t particularly want to talk to anyone on the phone. That’s a prime way to get his anxiety kicked off again.

Instead, he texts Shitty and reminds him of the first time they met, when Shitty accidentally broke into his apartment and fell asleep on Jack’s sofa, claiming that it was the most comfortable place he’d ever slept. No one knows that story except the two of them, especially not the bit about how Jack had woken up the following morning to find a totally pants-less Shitty passed out on his sofa, still somehow wearing a formal shirt and a perfectly tied Windsor knot.

Bitty’s phone lights up with yet another flash, something on twitter by the likes of it, and now he’s got near a hundred unread notifications on his front screen. He tries to return the phone to Bitty, but Bitty tells him to keep it, that a night away from twitter won’t hurt him, and that really, there’s no one waiting for him. Jack appreciates it more than he can even say.

They fall into a silence after that, and it’s surprisingly comfortable given that they don’t know each other from adam. Bitty’s scribbling recipe ideas onto sheets of lined paper, and Jack is reading a book Bitty lent him about the history of salt. It’s achingly peaceful, and surprisingly domestic, for two complete strangers.

“Do you want to know why they were after me?” Jack asks, almost half an hour later, when he finally concludes that Bitty deserves to know who exactly he’s hiding. Besides, he is almost certain that if Bitty had his phone, he’d know everything in mere seconds. It's only because Bitty's being considerate about his anxiety that he doesn't know what pretty much (probably) everyone knows by now. What he’s about to say is probably already all over the internet.

“Yes, but you don’t really have to tell me, Jack. It’s not my business.” Bitty’s reply is calm and sincere, and _that’s_ the most surprising thing. No one has ever paid much attention to what is and isn’t their business before, it's a refreshing change.

“I came out, today,” Jack says, as levelly as he can. Bitty, who’s just stood up to deposit the used mugs and plates into the sink, stops in his tracks. He doesn’t drop anything but his jaw, and Jack knows that this could go either way, but Bitty at least deserves the truth. “It was supposed to be a press conference about the Falconers’ plan for the upcoming season, but they kept asking me about my plans for the day, whether there was a lucky lady whom I’d be spending valentines’ day with. I just snapped and told them there was no lady, but there might’ve been a man.”

Bitty makes a tiny, indecipherably noise, and Jack deliberately does not look up at him.

“I don’t know why I did it today. I’ve been hiding for more than half my life, and I’ve definitely heard worse things from a lot of people, but for some reason today was the breaking point.” And it’s true. Never before has Jack identified so much with the phrase, ‘the straw that broke the camel’s back’. And in any case, the look on the reporters’ faces had been _priceless;_  even Jack can appreciate having taken them by complete surprise. “Even though I should probably have waited til I actually had a boyfriend, eh? Might have made the whole ting easier to swallow.” He’s trying desperately to lighten the mood, to make a joke of it, because he still doesn’t know how Bitty is going to react.

“Jack,” Bitty says, and his voice is quivering. Jack can’t help but look up because he really wants to see Bitty’s face now. He really wants to see the expression on Bitty’s face, because Bitty is the first real person – the first person he’s ever come out to, who’s not a member of the NHL or of the press. Shitty and his parents don’t count, because they’re family. Bitty is almost certainly on the verge of tears. “Jack, can I please hug you?” he asks.

And Jack hadn’t been expecting that. Most people who wanted to hug him did so without bothering to ask for permission. Most others tended to avoid physical contact with him, as if his anxiety was contagious. He supposed even more people would start avoiding him now, just in case queerness could be spread through touch. Bitty doesn’t seem to have any such compunctions. Jack nods and almost instantly, Bitty’s arms are wrapped around him, and Bitty is crying and trembling like a leaf.

“Thank you,” he whispers, and somehow Jack hears it over the pounding of his own heart in his ears.

“What the heck for?” he asks, and it’s a genuine question. This hadn’t been part of the plan. Georgia had known about his orientation, and so had most of his teammates, but it’s not like the Falconers’ had planned for Jack to come out any time soon. He didn’t know what was going to happen to his career after this; he didn’t know whether he’d be losing half (or more) of his friends because of his confession. His coming out had been entirely selfish, because he’d felt like he couldn’t breathe, and like he just wanted the reporters to stop bugging him. It had become almost impossible to continue pretending that that there was a nice girl waiting for him at home when really, he’d much rather have a nice boy.

“For being the first one to come out in the NHL,” Bitty replies, and his tears have dried up as quickly as they appeared. He pulls away, and Jack resists the urge to tighten his arms around Bitty, to convince him to stay. He recognizes that it’s a totally bizarre thought, because he doesn’t even _know_ Bitty, doesn’t know who he is. And still, somehow, he trusts him. “It means a lot,” Bitty continues. “To a lot of people. Including me.”

“Are you bisexual too?” he asks, a little stupidly. It’s a blunt question and he’s kicking himself before the sentence has even completely left his mouth.

Bitty shakes his head, but before Jack’s heart can sink too far, he continues. “I’m gay. No interest in women whatsoever.”

Jack relaxes and shrugs a little. “It’s easier with girls, because that’s what we’re taught to get used to. Doesn’t mean I could ever stop thinking guys that way, too.”

“Yeah,” Bitty nods. “I know what you mean. Shit,” he says, and Jack agrees. That’s about the right sentiment. “I can’t believe you came out!” Bitty’s voice goes a little bit higher and his next question sounds even more panicky. “Did your parents know?”

Jack nods. “Yeah, they’ve known for a long time. They’ve always been really supportive.”

“That’s great,” Bitty says, and he sounds genuinely happy for Jack, but also a little heartbroken. Jack figures that’s probably because he’s thinking about coming out to his own parents. It’s never easy; always terrifying. Jack gets it. He’d felt the exact same way when he was coming out, and he’d just been really lucky with how his parents (and Shitty) had reacted.

“Yours?” Jack asks, even though he already knows the answer, going by the look on Bitty’s face. He doesn’t really have to wait for Bitty to shake his head to know that it’s not going to be as happy a story as his own. “Does your team know?”

Bitty nods and the smile on his face becomes more real, and a lot less brittle. “Samwell’s got your back, y’know.” It sounds a little bit like a motto, like something that’s been repeated again and again until it became real.

“I know. Somehow I discovered that I wasn’t as alone as I thought I was, along the way. You’ll see it too, I think. I mean, take your time with the coming out, but, if it’s making you unhappy, don’t wait forever. It’s not worth living with the axe hanging above your head all the time.” It’s possibly (probably) the wisest thing Jack has come up with in months, but he knows it’s true, and he knows Bitty knows it too.  

Bitty grins a little, and the entire room gets just a bit warmer. Now that his head is clear, Jack is noticing that Bitty is really quite attractive. “I guess I’ve gotta take some solid advice from the guy who just came out of a closet most of us didn’t even know existed. Good luck, darling.”

He’s teasing, but Jack remembers all of a sudden, with shocking clarity, that he just came out to the entire _world_. “ _Crisse_ , I think I’m going to need all the luck I can get.” Somehow, miraculously, it’s funny now, when hours ago it would have sent him spiralling into a deep panic.  

Bitty snorts and Jack can’t help but laugh too, and it’s a very real laugh even though it’s just a little hysterical. “Have you eaten?” Bitty asks, when they both settle again, back into their seats with their knees knocking below the table. It's shockingly intimate, and really quite nice. Jack shakes his head. He can’t remember when he last had a proper meal, apart from the pie. “Will pizza do?” Bitty asks. “I’m a little too tired to cook today.”

Jack considers for a second. He’s already blown his diet with the pie. “I could cook, if you don’t mind loaning me your kitchen,” he suggests instead.

Bitty gazes at him with wide eyes for a long second, and then nods. He knows, when he starts chopping vegetables, what the little stirring feeling in his stomach means. He knows it’s clichéd as anything, and that Parse is going to laugh until he throws up, but he’s still got a good feeling about this. Bitty looks surprised, but also kind of excited, and that’s exactly what Jack is feeling too.

“Trust me,” he says after another moment of silence. “I make really good stir fry.”

“Well,” Bitty says, and his voice is soft. “If you do dinner, then I’ll do dessert.”

Jack can’t help but grin at the meaning beneath Bitty’s words, and can’t help but hope that he means them. “It’s a deal.”

**Author's Note:**

> i regret everything in my life that has brought me to this point. it is three am on a thursday morning and i have produced yet another piece of garbage written almost entirely on my phone while i should have been working/studying. as always, this is not beta-ed because i fell into this fandom without actually being prepared for it, and i don't actually know anyone who could have helped. any volunteers? 
> 
> i apologise for both the title and the ending. i'll probably come back and fix 'em eventually, because i just know i'm going to hate them both when i wake up in the morning. eh. concrit is always appreciated.


End file.
